


By Just Exchange

by mydogwatson



Series: Once Upon A Time At Xmas [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gifts, M/M, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xmas with John and Sherlock in a cottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Just Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Well, next to last. Thanks so much for sticking with this tale, for commenting, and the kudos. You have made my holiday season even happier.
> 
> Come back tomorrow, please, for the end!

-My true love hath my heart  
and I have his, by just  
exchange one from the other.

-Phillip Sidney

 

“You look enormously pleased with yourself,” Sherlock said dryly, not really even glancing up from the laptop. Sometimes it seemed that even after five months the man barely understood the meaning of the word ‘retirement’, even if, in his case, it was modified by the phrase ‘somewhat early.’ His hair was barely starting to grey and his face was still mostly unlined and his mind, of course, was as sharp as ever.

John knew that many people, especially those at the Yard, thought that he had been the one who wanted to give up the work and move to a cottage in Sussex. The general opinion was that Sherlock Holmes would want to work until he dropped, preferably in the middle of a fascinating case. But the truth was much different. John thought that he never would have asked Sherlock to step away from the work he loved, although he himself was starting to tire of it all. In the event, though, it was Sherlock who suggested retirement and who found the cottage. He never really explained why, not even to John.

They had settled into their new life with remarkable ease. And if Sherlock spent several hours a day on cases presented by both various police agencies from around the world and members of the public, at least those cases were almost all handled solely on the computer. They did not involve rooftop chases or gunfights, for which John was grateful. When he was not working on cases, Sherlock seemed very content to tend his bees or read sitting next to John. Sometimes they took long walks through the countryside, as Sherlock talked about his most recent experiments. Thankfully, most of those had to do with honey production, and very few actually exploded. 

Still standing by the door, John pulled off his warm coat and gloves, then yanked off the boots as well. “I am pleased with myself,” he said. He stepped back and looked at the tree he had just dragged in. “I chopped down our Xmas tree. Instead of paying a small fortune to a shady bloke in an empty car park in London, I walked into our own patch of woodland, chose a tree and then used an axe to cut it down. Bloody right I’m proud.”

Sherlock was still banging away on the keyboard. “My hero,” he said. “I can smell the testosterone from way over here.”

“Can you now?” John asked with a comical leer.

Sherlock snorted. Finally, he closed the laptop, uncurled himself from the chair, and strolled over to where John stood. He eyed the tree a bit skeptically. “Not the most perfect specimen, is it?”

“Hey, you git, I won’t have you criticising my choice, especially since you absolutely refused to help.”

 

“There was a case, John,” Sherlock said in his ‘I am being reasonable’ voice. It was, of course, the same excuse that John had been hearing for over twenty years. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned forward and stuck his nose into John’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh,   
you worked up a bit of a sweat. You know that I adore you all sweaty.”

“It’s all that testosterone,” John teased.

“Mmm.” Sherlock shook his head. “It’s just you, your smell, concentrated. Delightful.”

John had never really become used to this romantic side of Sherlock Holmes; it still surprised and pleased him every time it came into view. “Perhaps I should bottle it,” he suggested. “Eau d’ Watson. Make my fortune.”

“Absolutely not. It belongs to me. No one else gets to smell it. Or taste it.” Abruptly, his tongue emerged and licked a path up John’s neck.

“Bit possessive, aren’t you?”

“Entirely so.” Sherlock’s tongue took another slow, sensuous journey up John’s neck. “And you’re a fine one to talk. Remember that poor idiot in the pub last week?”

“Huh. He was flirting with you. While I was sitting right there.” John sighed. “Yes, all right, we’re a couple of jealous twits.”

They stayed like that for another moment, until John pulled away. “I need a cuppa,” he said.

“Well, as long as you’re making…”

“Yes, yes.”

At least Sherlock helped a bit this time, slicing thick pieces of gingerbread from the village bakery and, with the excuse that it was almost Xmas, adding a dollop of clotted crème to each plate. John rewarded that initiative with a quick squeeze of his still rather perfect arse..

They were just settling down in front of the fire, tea and gingerbread on the tray, when someone knocked loudly on the door. For a moment, they only looked at one another. Then Sherlock smiled. “A client, do you think?”

“Now? At this hour?”

There had been a couple of instances of people from the village turning up at the cottage, with one petty problem or another that they thought the great detective [retired, John always muttered as he showed them in] would be interested in solving for them. For neither of those cases had Sherlock been interested in leaving the cottage. And he hadn’t needed to. “Oh, John,” he had sighed after one of those was solved and the neighbour had been sent on her way, satisfied. “How far the mighty have fallen.”

“I’m only impressed that the great Sherlock Holmes would lower himself to solve The Case of the Missing Tea Caddy,” John had replied with a smirk. Luckily he was long immune to the patented Holmes glare.

On this night, there was more knocking, but Sherlock still showed no inclination to stir himself to answer it. John frowned at him and then went to open the door. But no one was standing there. As John looked, he caught a glimpse of someone disappearing into the darkening woods. Then he glanced down and saw a covered wicker basket sitting at his feet. “What the hell…” He glanced back into the room and saw Sherlock grinning at him.

John lifted the basket and carried it into the parlour before lifting the lid.

All he could do was stare at the sight of a tiny curled up ball of English bulldog sleeping in the bottom of the basket. Then he looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him with an extraordinarily tender expression. “Did you..?”

Sherlock shrugged. “You’ve been muttering for weeks about dogs. And this one became available. Didn’t see why we should wait two more days.”

John reached inside the basket and lifted the plump little puppy out. Two sleepy eyes blinked at him and John couldn’t help smiling. “He’s perfect, Sherlock.”

Sherlock only nodded and sipped his tea, but clearly he was delighted with his choice of gift and John’s reaction to it.

After a moment, John walked over and bent to kiss Sherlock. “Thank you.”

“Don’t let him worry my bees,” was all Sherlock said.

“I suppose you might as well have your gift early, too,” John said. Still carrying the pup, he went into the bedroom and pulled the small wrapped box out of his sadly disarrayed sock drawer, which he had known would be a safe hiding place. Sherlock never opened that drawer because it seemed to cause him actual physical pain to see the mess.

Once back in parlour, he sat on the sofa next to Sherlock. He let the puppy curl into the Union Jack pillow and continue dozing. Then he took a deep breath. “This is probably ridiculous after so many years,” he said quietly. “And you are under no obligation at all…”

Sherlock just held out his hand. “My gift, please.”

John gave it to him. 

Sherlock was a precise gift opener. He never ripped the paper, but carefully pulled off the tape and folded the paper back. He hesitated a moment when he saw that the box was from the village jeweler and then it was his turn to take a deep breath. He opened the box and saw the platinum ring inside. Mute, for once, he looked up at John.

John cleared his throat. “Will you marry me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock ducked his head briefly, touching the ring with the tip of his finger, and then looked up with a tiny smile. “Yes, John,” he said finally. “I will marry you. Of course.”

John nodded briskly. “Good. Good.”

Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him into a long, sweet kiss.

When it finally ended, still holding onto one another, they settled more deeply in the sofa to finish their tea and watch the puppy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow: Those Who Love Deeply


End file.
